


it drives you crazy, getting old

by ninaxinej



Category: The Underland Chronicles - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, Underland Chronicles Fandom Week, boots centric, boots growing up, character death implied (canon), other characters are mentioned!, set in the overland, sort of a character study?, spoilers lol, tuc week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:13:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25777189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninaxinej/pseuds/ninaxinej
Summary: Boots wants to ask him what he means. She wants to ask why the grate in the laundry room is boarded up. She wants to ask why he saves the roaches in their apartment instead of killing them, and why it’s a habit that she’s picked up on, too. She wants to ask about the nightmares. She wants to ask why he makes clicking noises when the power goes out. She wants to ask why he looks up at the night sky, at the bats that fly in front of the moon. She wants to ask about the scars that mark his skin, scars that have been there for as long as she can remember, as if by destiny.///Or: Boots is growing up, clinging to the few memories she has from her time in the Underland.
Relationships: Gregor Campbell & Margaret "Boots" Campbell
Comments: 18
Kudos: 42
Collections: TUC Week, TUC Week 2020





	it drives you crazy, getting old

**Author's Note:**

> the underland chronicles fandom week (2020)  
> day five: scars
> 
> hope u enjoy! kudos and comments appreciated <3

**I.**

Boots is three. She doesn’t really know what that means, but when someone asks her how old she is, she holds up her index, middle, and ring finger on one hand and proudly tells them, “I’m three!” When she says it, though, it always sounds a bit more like, “I’m free!”

If she were a bit older, a bit wiser, maybe she’d realize that there isn’t much of a difference between the two anyway. Because Gregor is twelve, and Lizzie is eight, and sometimes, there's a pain in their eyes that makes them seem much older, and not very free at all.

Of course, Boots doesn’t understand that yet. Just like she doesn’t understand why the tiny cockroaches in their apartment won’t talk to her. If Temp were there, he would talk to her. But even when she tries the clicking language that she learned from Hazard, the roaches don’t understand her, or maybe they’re so small that their voices are unable to carry. In any case, she misses Temp. Every few days, she asks Gregor if they can go see Temp soon. Gregor never replies.

There’s talk of moving to Virginia. Boots doesn’t really know what that means either, but she thinks that Virginia is far. Maybe another planet. She tugs on Gregor’s sleeve while they’re eating dinner one night. “We see Temp?” She asks him. “Temp in Virginia?”

Gregor doesn’t reply. Their mother does. “No,” she says sharply. “No Temp in Virginia.”

Boots starts to cry. Lizzie tries to comfort her. The rest of dinner is silent.

**II.**

Boots is five. She’s in kindergarten now, which is a word that she has trouble saying, but she’s pretty sure it’s a big deal. She feels very old. Gregor and Lizzie still look older.

They never move to Virginia. Money is always too much of an issue, and Grandma is always too sick, and there always seems to be something holding them in the city — that's Gregor’s understanding of the situation. He thinks it's a cruel joke that they can't leave. “I’m done,” he wants to say. “I did what I needed to do. I’m done being the warrior now. Let me leave.” But who could he say it to? Who would even listen?

Boots doesn’t know about any of that. Even when she overhears conversations, she’s too young to worry about the consequences. But still, she sees the worry etched in her mother’s face, carved in the crease between her brow. She sees her father’s desperation, even if she doesn’t have a name for it, in his restless fidgeting and uneasy sleep. She sees Lizzie’s anxiety, ever-present and overwhelming, waking her up and shutting her down.

And she sees Gregor. Quiet. Weary. Lost.

Boots doesn’t really understand. She isn’t troubled like the rest of them. But she sees that something is wrong, so she tries to help. She shares her cookies with her family, delighted by the smiles that light up their shadowed faces. She makes them chase her around the house while she wears nothing but her underwear, and dances around in their shoes, and steals their noses by putting her thumb between her fingers. Each laugh she earns feels like a medal, and Boots wears each one with care.

And one day, they’re all sitting together and smiling and talking like nothing is wrong, and it’s a good day, and Boots wants to make it a better day, so she racks her brain for something that will brighten their spirits even more, and then she gets it. A sudden memory, a genius idea. “Gre-go!” She exclaims, reverting to her old pronunciation in her excitement. “Gre-go can we fly? Can we fly on the bats?”

But Gregor’s smile falls, and the room is suddenly silent, and Boots doesn’t know what she did wrong. “The bats,” she repeats emphatically, as if _he’s_ the one who doesn’t understand. A name enters her head. “Ares!”

“I have homework to do,” Gregor says. He goes into his room. Boots is on her dad’s lap as her mom cries silently, and Lizzie picks at a patch of carpet, and Boots still doesn’t know what she did wrong.

**III.**

Boots is seven. She feels old again, but not old enough.

Gregor is starting high school. Boots has heard him begging Mom and Dad to be homeschooled. They refuse. Mom will say, “You have to go out and be a part of the real world.” Dad will say, “It’s time to be a normal kid again.” Gregor wants to say, “I’m trying. I don’t know how.” But he never does.

Boots doesn’t get it. She likes school. “Are you nervous?” She asks him one night. “Are you nervous about school, Gregor?”

“Yeah,” Gregor replies, offering her a smile. “I’m nervous.”

Old, but not old enough. Boots is old enough to understand that his smile isn’t genuine, but not old enough to understand why.

“Shake the jitters out,” she tells him. “That’s what Lizzie says to do.” To demonstrate, she wiggles her arms and legs and shakes her head all around until she’s dizzy.

Gregor laughs at that, and Boots thinks it’s for real.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knows that something has changed. That her brother used to be different. He used to laugh, and she wouldn’t have to wonder if it was forced or not. There was a time when she didn’t feel so young in comparison, and a time when she didn’t have to act older for him. When she could be Boots, and he could be Gregor, and there was nothing else for them to worry about.

She doesn’t know exactly what changed. Sometimes, though, she pretends not to listen while her parents are talking. Sometimes, they talk about her.

“She was so young,” her mom says one night. “Do you think she remembers? Any of it?”

“I don’t think she understood most of it,” Dad assures her. “There was so much going on. Good and bad.”

“So young,” her mom repeats. “She’s still so young. They all are. Who knows what she saw down there. What Gregor saw…”

They both go quiet after that. They seem to worry about Gregor most of all. And they use that phrase a lot. _Down there_. Like they’re afraid to say what _there_ really is. Boots has heard it, though. Her dad slipped up once, said the name of the place that they all seem to agonize over. The Underland.

Boots sees flashes in her head. Giant animals, bats and rats. A palace. A city. Darkness. But her parents are right. She doesn’t understand.

**IV.**

Boots is nine, but she prefers the term “almost ten”. Ten is a big deal. Gregor is eighteen, though, which is, apparently, a bigger deal. Their parents talk about things like graduation, and college, and Mrs. Cormaci keeps giving him random gifts. (“What use does a woman like me have for a coffee maker? I should be cutting down on caffeine, Gregor, really. But _you_ , Mister College Boy? You’re going to need this. Trust me. Oh, you’re going to _love_ college. I had some great times there, like when my friend Tammy and I…”)

Gregor tells Mom and Dad to keep the coffee maker. He won’t be too far, anyway. He’s going to college in the state for cheaper tuition, or something like that. Boots is glad she doesn’t have to worry about college yet. For once, she savors being young, even if everyone else is finally talking about how old she’s getting.

They mostly talk about Gregor, though. And he _is_ older. He’s an adult, and he looks like one, and he acts like one. It’s hard to imagine him as her brother sometimes. Lizzie, at fourteen, actually seems to connect with him. Boots remembers when that used to be her. Sometimes, she doesn’t savor being young at all.

And then Boots is ten. Gregor is graduating. Everyone cries and cheers when he gets his diploma. It’s summer, and everything is bittersweet because Gregor is leaving soon. He won’t be far, but it’ll be far enough to matter.

“Are you nervous?” Boots asks him one day. He’s in the midst of packing his things, but he stops to give her his attention. “About college?”

He shrugs a bit. “Yeah,” he says. Then he winks. “But I’ve faced scarier things.”

Boots wants to ask him what he means. She wants to ask why the grate in the laundry room is boarded up. She wants to ask why he saves the roaches in their apartment instead of killing them, and why it’s a habit that she’s picked up on, too. She wants to ask about the nightmares. She wants to ask why he makes clicking noises when the power goes out. She wants to ask why he looks up at the night sky, at the bats that fly in front of the moon. She wants to ask about the scars that mark his skin, scars that have been there for as long as she can remember, as if by destiny.

There are many things that Boots could ask. Maybe Gregor would have answers for her. Maybe he couldn’t possibly answer any of it. Maybe the truth is more complicated than she could ever know, a story that would take time to tell, time that they didn’t have, and a story that had to be told right.

So she doesn’t ask about any of those things. Instead, she remembers that name, the one that her dad let slip so many years ago. “Do you miss it?” Boots asks him. “The Underland?”

Gregor is quiet for a long time. It reminds her of the days when she was less careful with her words, and Gregor wouldn’t give her a reply. Now, she waits patiently. She thinks he will answer her, as long as she gives him the time to figure out what he wants to say.

“Yes. I do,” he says finally. “But it’s not my place there anymore.”

“What about me? Did I have a place there?”

He smiles fondly at that. “You did,” he answers. His eyes are somewhere far away. “You were a princess.”

 _A princess._ It’s like a word straight out of a fairytale. And suddenly, her heart aches for this world that she cannot remember, this life that she lived before her real life began. “Can we ever go back?” She asks. There’s desperation in her voice that she didn’t expect. “Can I see it again?”

Gregor’s smile becomes pained. He takes his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a photo. Boots takes it gingerly in her hands. After staring at it a moment, she realizes with a jolt that it’s a picture of him. He was younger, no older than twelve. Not all of his scars were there yet, but the ones that were present were much more pronounced than they are now. And there's a girl beside him. Skin so pale that Boots can see the veins inside. Her hair is silver, resting on her shoulders like it was commanded to do so. The crown atop her head is angled to one side, violet eyes shining. Her attempt at regality is countered by the childlike joy that they both seem to share in the photo. They were so young.

“ _She_ looks like a princess,” Boots says, pointing at the girl.

“A queen,” Gregor corrects her. There’s a strange pride in his voice. “She’s old enough to rule by now. I bet she’s doing a great job.”

“Can we go find out?”

But he takes the photo from her and returns it to his wallet. “Maybe one day,” he says. Boots isn’t sure if she believes him, but she doesn’t press the topic. She leaves him to continue packing, taking one last look at the scars on his arms, legs, face, and wonders how else the Underland has hurt him.

**V.**

Margaret is eleven. She’s starting middle school soon, so it’s about time she drops the childish nickname. It hasn’t applied for a long time anyway. She isn’t the little girl who steals her family’s shoes anymore.

Gregor is in college. He’s close enough to visit every so often, but he’s mostly busy. College stuff. Whatever.

Lizzie is going into her junior year. She’s worried, which is nothing new, but this time it’s about AP classes and deciding where _she’s_ going to go to college in a few years. Sometimes, Margaret resents being the youngest.

Not that she’s eager to go anywhere. If anything, she’s eager to stay. There have been talks of moving again. Grandma died a few years ago. Money is still an issue, but once Lizzie and Gregor are both in college…

Margaret tunes out those conversations that her parents have. She wants to scream, “What about me? What if _I_ don’t want to leave?” But she doesn’t.

She wouldn’t be leaving much behind. She thinks that she’d miss the city and some of her friends. But most of all, she thinks of the Underland. Even when she knows she shouldn’t.

No one in their apartment has mentioned the Underland, by name or otherwise, since Gregor left. Margaret has a feeling she was the last to ever bring it up. She doesn’t dare bring it up again. Not now. Not when she understands so little, and when it’s impacted her family so much.

But she thinks about it. That grate in the laundry room. The girl from the photo, who looked so impossibly young, but was now a queen. She thinks about how she, Margaret, was once a princess. And when she sleeps, she dreams of cockroaches and castles and flying.

**VI.**

Margaret is thirteen. She lives with her mom, her dad, and basically Mrs. Cormaci at this point, but that’s it. Lizzie is in college. She got accepted somewhere prestigious, further than Gregor but not too far. It doesn’t matter. They’re moving.

It isn’t a hypothetical anymore. Mom and Dad have started packing boxes. Mrs. Cormaci, more than anyone, is sad to see them go. In a month, they’ll be on the farm in Virginia, and Margaret will be starting anew.

She’s mostly okay with it. She’s only surprised that it took so long. But the extra time has given her the confidence to make her mind up about something, and she’s determined to see her plan through.

They had to unblock the grate. They were leaving the apartment, and so they had to unblock the grate. If Gregor were still home, Margaret suspects it would have been the very last thing that Mom and Dad did before leaving. But he isn’t home, and her parents are under the impression that she doesn’t remember the Underland at all, so the grate is no longer blocked.

When she takes the trip down into the laundry room, Margaret immediately recognizes the danger. The grate looks unstable and remarkably easy to fall through, and from her understanding, the risk only increases at the bottom. She steps towards it, then loses her nerve and goes back to her room.

On her second trip into the laundry room, she brings a flashlight. It doesn’t feel like enough. She leaves again.

On her third trip, she has a bag filled with flashlights, batteries, water bottles, any snacks she could forage from the cabinet, and her dad’s winter shoes. They don’t fit, but they’re a better fit for a journey than her own beat-up sneakers. She throws the bag through the grate. There’s no changing her mind anymore. She waits a moment, but she never hears the bag hit the ground.

Not wanting to let herself hesitate any longer, Margaret— _Boots_ , she thinks with a smile— lowers herself into the hole and lets go.

She’s falling. No, not falling. _Flying._ She’s moving quickly, but she’s safe, she’s sure of it. The air is gently carrying her to the ground. It’s a familiar sensation. She thinks: _I’ve missed this._

Time passes. She isn’t sure how much. She can’t find it in herself to be afraid. She thinks: _Courage only counts when you can count._ She doesn’t know where the phrase comes from, which makes her certain that it’s from the Underland. She feels alive.

More time passes. How much time is passing? She feels impatient. If everything goes smoothly, she can be back home soon enough that her parents will never know she was here. But that can’t happen if she never stops _falling._

And then she’s on the ground. She barely feels the impact, only recognizes that her back is now pressed against something hard and cold.

Boots gets to her feet. Fumbles for a flashlight in her bag. Shines it all around her. Her heart is in her throat, but she’s _here_. She’s made it back to the place that she’s only been able to remember in flashes. The place where she’s a princess. The place that her brother misses so much, but might never face again.

Old wounds. Just by being here, Boots is reopening old wounds. Fueling the fear in her parents’ hearts, the anxiety that plagues Lizzie. The pain that will always follow Gregor. Pain that she would never understand. Scars, inside and out.

She thinks: _I shouldn’t be here._

Panic seizes her. She shouldn’t be here. This is a mistake. She’s risking all of the good years that they’ve had just for, what? So she can see what she was missing out on? The story that everyone else was able to be a part of, even Mrs. Cormaci, and that Boots can’t even remember?

 _Do they want to?_ She wonders. _Do they want to remember? Do they envy me for forgetting it all?_

No, that’s not right. She hasn’t forgotten all of it. She remembers people with eyes that sparkled kindly, and hands reaching out to hold her, to protect her. She remembers soaring through the air. She remembers cockroaches dancing for her. She remembers warm baths and root beer and shared food and laughter and friendship.

It wasn’t all bad. For every scar, there‘s a memory of a friendly face or a funny story. And for that reason, Boots has to think that it was all worth it. She has to think that Gregor will never want to forget it. She knows she needs closure on the world that she has already forgotten.

There’s a clicking from behind her. Boots turns, shining her light at the tunnel, ready to face whatever is there. She thinks: _I won’t stay long._ She thinks: _I’ve been waiting for this for years._ And again, she thinks: _I’ve missed this. So much._

Something emerges from the shadows. Boots catches its face in the beam of her light. The giant roach looks astonished. “Be you the princess, you be?”

“I am the princess,” she confirms. Boots offers Temp her widest smile. “Hi, you.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading!
> 
> twitter & tumblr: prophecyofgray


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